


Coming Home

by xxpanda92xx



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Reunion, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-16 22:19:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxpanda92xx/pseuds/xxpanda92xx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock comes home and must figure out how to earn John's forgiveness after being gone for so long, as well as how to deal with the feelings he cannot ignore any longer</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For niarmulr on Tumblr because they asked to read it

Sherlock breathed deeply and tried to calm his frazzled nerves. To be honest, he found his nervousness aggravating and that only worsened his mood. It had been three years since, with Molly’s help, he had faked his death and begun to untangle the messy web Moriarty had left in his wake. Three years since he had spoken to John Watson, his best friend, before making him watch Sherlock fall. Three years since he had listened to the doctor ask for one last miracle from him. Now, he was going to make that miracle happen. He was unsure, however, how he would be received, and he hated that uncertainty. He hated how nervous he was about how John might react. He hated that, according to Mycroft who had helped him with the deception, John had fallen into the company of one Miss Mary Morstan and was seen spending much of his time with her. He hated that he hated John’s friendship with Mary Morstan. All of these emotions were so…ordinary. He hated feeling so damn human. How did people cope? As if mediocre intelligence and a stunning lack of observation skills were not enough, they also managed to deal with all of these abominable feelings all the time. It was awful.

He sighed and paced the apartment frantically, as hyper as he was on a nicotine withdrawal. He surveyed the flat that John had kept. Gone was his science equipment, probably donated to some school or charity. The skull, interestingly enough, was still there. His chair was still there as well, though the deeper depression of the cushion suggested that Mary had sat there recently and often, much to his distaste. That much would have to change. John was his, thank you very much, and no pretty woman who wandered in during his absence was going to change that. The three years of separation had shown him how much John really meant to him, and it had only been after Mycroft had promised to keep a protective eye on John that Sherlock was truly able to focus on his work. He had worried mildly about Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade, but not nearly as much as he had about John.

Sherlock froze when he heard the front door open and two voices filled the hall as their owners climbed the stairs. One was the familiar voice of Doctor John Watson, just returning from his work at the surgery. The other was a woman’s; no doubt it was Mary, who Mycroft had informed him was the receptionist at the surgery where John worked. Sherlock forced down all of his wildly raging emotions and froze his face into a cool façade as the door to the flat opened. 

John opened the door, laughing at something his companion had said, then stopped dead at the sight of Sherlock. The taller man cleared his throat, hoping to keep the nervousness out of his voice. How would John react? “Hello, John,” he said.

“Mary…,” was the only word that escaped John’s lips as the woman next to him entered the room, her eyes wide. 

Sherlock looked at John’s face, not caring about the girl, and answered all the unspoken questions he could see forming. “Yes, John, I am real. No, you are not seeing things, though if my absence has caused such an occurrence, I apologize. Yes, I had to leave without telling you. No, I do not regret it; it was necessary. Yes, I-”

He was cut off as John’s fist connected with his cheekbone. He had not seen that one coming. He should have though. John was an ex-army man after all. He had bad days. Sherlock did not have time to process anything else, however, because John had tackled him and was pounding his fists on Sherlock’s chest. “You bloody ass! How could you? What the hell?” He continued to yell various other obscenities and punch Sherlock until someone placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back.

“That’s enough, John,” Mary said, her voice gentle but firm. He continued to struggle to attack his former flat mate, but Mary would not have it. She pulled the doctor back by his jumper, speaking soothingly to him. 

Sherlock stood and brushed himself off as Mary continued to placate his friend. He decided, for once in his life, it would be best to hold his tongue and see how things lay before he made them worse. Mary sat down next to John on the couch and talked to him quietly. Apparently, she had a strong, positive influence on him, because his face went from red-faced rage to stiff anger, a decided improvement. Finally, he stood from the couch and announced, “I’m going out. Don’t try to follow me.” Grabbing his keys, he left the flat, slamming the door behind him.

Disappointed, Sherlock turned to stare out the window and watch John leave. That had not been the reaction he had been hoping for, though it did not necessarily surprise him either. Before he had time to process the sadness that was filling him and shove it down, Sherlock found himself being spun around and slapped. Hard. His cheek stung as he looked down into the eyes of a very pissed Mary.

“I hope you have a VERY good explanation for this, young man,” she spat. 

[ _The lack of wrinkles and blemishes in her face suggested she was actually younger than him, meaning that she must have worked extensively with children or other highly immature individuals to address him in such a manner. Authoritative tone confirms this theory _, he quickly deduced.]__

“Or I will have to kill you.”

[ _An idle threat, with no real desire to enforce it. Used to the need to appear forceful. Shirt collar high enough that cleavage would not be easily seen when she bent over. Older sister then. A general caretaker would not think of such trivial details. _]__

“How is your brother doing?” he asked, trying to be kind and make small talk. It was what normal people did, right?

Wrong. He reeled from a slap on the other cheek. _Must have multiple brothers, then, with a reasonable age gap. She disciplined me like a little kid, but wouldn’t smack around a younger child, but an older one she most likely would. ___

“Don’t try to deduce your way out of this!” she yelled. Then she took a breath, obviously trying to control her temper. “And they’re fine, thank you. What gave it away, my shoelaces?”

He rubbed his cheek absently. “Your neckline, actually.”

Mary shook her head. “He always told me your abilities were extraordinary. Now I see what he meant.”

“Who did?”

She rolled her eyes. Her anger may have come under control, but she was obviously still pretty angry with him. “John. And Lestrade a bit, now that I think of it. Neither of them bought the story about creating Moriarty or anything. Speaking of which, why don’t you tell me a little bit about how and why you died. I’m Mary, by the way.”

Sherlock snorted. This woman had impressed him with her ability to control her emotions and the way that John responded to her, but he had no reason to discuss this with her. She would be out of the picture soon enough. “It doesn’t concern you,” he answered stiffly, turning away.

The way that she grabbed him and shoved her knee into his stomach told him that he had, once again, said the wrong thing. As he doubled over and tried to regain his breath, Mary told him exactly why he was so very wrong in a voice that suggested she might act on her earlier threat to murder him if he did not step carefully. “Doesn’t concern me? Listen very, very closely, sir. In case you didn’t know, you happen to mean a lot to John Hamish Watson. Your ‘death’ damn near killed him too, you know. From what I hear, he was more or less under constant surveillance for suicide watch for the first six months or more of your absence. His limp never returned, miraculously enough, but he was a mess. You wouldn’t have recognized him. Lestrade was over here all the time, and Sarah and Molly too. His therapist couldn’t do anything, and it took the work of all of his friends combined just to keep him around.

“I got a job at the surgery, and I could tell he was a wreck the very first time we were introduced. So I asked him if he wanted to get a drink after work, and he did, and he got pretty drunk, and he never shut up about you and how smart you were and how much of an asshole Donovan and Anderson are and on and on and on…,” Mary trailed off, rolling her eyes a little. She had plopped down on the couch during her narrative, and Sherlock had sat down in his old chair, turning it to face her. 

Despite himself, Sherlock found himself liking her a little. She was obviously dull and ordinary; he could not see why she had captured John’s interest. Her swing from severely angry to intensely annoyed was unusual, but he attributed it to her work with children, which he had deduced continued even after moving away from home. She was a good storyteller, though a little long-winded for his taste. _Probably hoping to be a novelist or some such nonsense _, he mused. “Is that why you resent me?” he asked, putting his thoughts aside. “I am the roadblock in an otherwise perfectly normal relationship with John?” Even Anderson would have been able to notice how much Mary cared for John.__

She laughed a little, though the laugh obviously held no humor. “At first, yeah. I was pissed. John’s a perfectly good man, and he was already taken. By a dead man, no less.”

“We’re not a couple,” Sherlock said automatically. “I mean, we weren’t. You know, before I died.” He could feel his face warming and it bothered him greatly. Why was he blushing at her implication? He had heard it hundreds of times before the fall.

She laughed again, but this time it was not as bitter sounding. “Just because you weren’t a couple doesn’t mean you can’t have feelings for each other. Which you obviously do.”

“I fail to see how you getting drinks with John entitles you to hear all the details you want,” he said, looking to change the topic.

“Well, as you can see, I didn’t give up on a friendship with him just because I couldn’t date him. I stuck around, hanging out with him whenever I could. That’s how I got to know Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson and everyone. Even Anderson stopped by once, but only once because he couldn’t keep his comments to himself and John bloodied his nose. And loosened some teeth, I bet. Anyways, I’ve basically stuck by his side for two years now. We’re best mates. I’ve spent God only knows how many nights here, cleaning up vomit from excessive drunkenness, helping with hangovers, making sure he gets to work on time when he’s had a rough night from all the nightmares, making sure he doesn’t resort to drugs or self-harm, trying to make sure he doesn’t see any news articles or anything with your name, cleaning up the mess you left behind. It took forever, but we finally got John to the point where he’ll even go over and help out the Yard sometimes on a case. So, unless you have a very good reason for abandoning him, you can bloody well count on me telling him not to speak to you again. And trust me, right now, he’s going to listen to me a lot more than you.”

Sherlock glared at Mary as that threat left her mouth and hung in the air between them. There was no way he would let her come between him and John. However, something was nagging him about her story, and he realized it was the way she described John. Drunk, being watched for suicidal tendencies, depressed, and experiencing nightmares again. He could see where her anger was justified. “I did it to protect him,” he said simply.

“Well you fucked that up nicely,” Mary retorted. “You destroyed him.”

“You don’t understand. There were snipers trained on him, as well as a couple other people I…care about. If I didn’t die, they would have. I’ve spent all this time cleaning up the mess Moriarty made so that way John and everyone else would live.” He offered no further details. 

She looked at him for a long time, saying nothing. It unnerved him a little to be scrutinized the way that he stared at others, but he held her stare. Maybe she was not quite as ordinary as he had assumed. Finally, Mary’s hard, angry features relaxed. Now that she did not look like she could positively murder him, Sherlock could understand how John would find her appealing. However, he did not share the sentiment. When she finally spoke, her tone was much softer. “Ok, you’re forgiven. Well, kind of. But you need to work hard to make this up to John. You have no idea how bad this hurt him. Mrs. Hudson found him holding a gun to his head once. That’s when everyone stepped up to help him. And it almost wasn’t enough. Even having me around to take care of him constantly, he was in horrible shape. Speaking of which, you owe me.”

Sherlock stared at her. “I owe you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Without me, your John would most likely be dead. I sacrificed any chance at a life I might have had to take care of him because, since we both work at the surgery, our schedules are very similar. I practically babysat him. And I didn’t date him, no matter how many times he asked. Which was a lot. So, yes, I think I can safely say you owe me.”

Sherlock frowned. He was beginning to dislike Mary again. Not only was she ordinary, though not as dull as he had originally thought, she was stubborn, rude, and demanding. Like me, his brain reminded him. Only, instead of being selfish, she was sacrificing. “What’s your price?”

“Don’t kick me out of his life,” she answered. “Like I said, I kind of built my life around him. I’m not going to be all possessive and act like he’s mine. I won’t stand between you guys and your friendship, or whatever else develops. But he’s my best friend. Occasionally I needed a shoulder to cry on or an ear who would listen and he was always there. He’s told me about how you drive all his girlfriends away. Don’t do that to me.”

“That’s a steep price,” Sherlock commented dryly. “I don’t share well. Never have.”

“Well, learn to. Because I hate sharing my friends too, but I’ll do it for John’s sake.”

He sighed. What she asked for was both simple and impossible. But he understood it was necessary. He hated it though. “Very well. I will not try to dislodge you from his life. But don’t think for one moment I enjoy this arrangement.”

Mary smiled slightly. “Thank you, Sherlock. John should be back soon. Do you want me to leave?”

“Not immediately,” he admitted. “I want to make sure he doesn’t try to murder me when he sees me again. Once I know he’ll hear what I have to say, then yes, you’ll need to go.”

Mary nodded. “I wouldn’t be too worried if I were you. He missed you a lot.”

They both turned towards the door as the heard the front door open and angry stomping up the stairs. Mary smiled. “That will be for you, then.”

John came in, still fuming but obviously much calmer than when he had left. “Are you going to be alright?” Mary asked. When John nodded, she rose to leave. “I’ll see you guys later, then. John, don’t hurt him too badly. Give him a chance to explain.” She kissed his cheek quickly, then took her coat and left.

Sherlock tried to ignore the kiss and the feelings of jealousy that attached themselves to it and said quietly, “I’m sorry, John.”

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” said his very angry doctor.

Sherlock nodded. “Sit down, get comfortable. It’s a long story. Would you like some tea?” he asked, rising and walking to the kitchen to make it.

“No, just sit and talk,” John ordered gruffly. He sat in his chair and turned Sherlock’s so they faced each other.

Sherlock nodded and sat down. “That day, on the roof, the reason I fell…it was to save you. And Mrs. Hudson. And Lestrade. Moriarty had hired men who would kill you all if they did not see me die. Of course, he had a way to call it off, but when I tried to figure it out and make him do it, he killed himself. Shot himself in the head. So I had to die. It was that or let my three friends die, and I couldn’t do that. Remember when I deduced how much of a disadvantage love and sentiment were with The Woman? Well, it only proved my point.

“I’m not an idiot though. I thought Moriarty would have something like that planned. So I enlisted Molly’s help to fake my death. We used a drug that temporarily stopped my heart. I injected it into my palm as I fell. I made sure to fall in a way that meant I wouldn’t permanently damage anything. Molly was working the morgue, of course, and so she made sure that I got out alive and hidden. Since then, I’ve been working to clear up Moriarty’s gang and all the mess he left behind. I’ve unraveled his schemes and seen that his henchmen were either arrested or dead. Now, the evidence is there that my name can be cleared. And it will be, in a week’s time. Mycroft is getting it prepared for press release. Then things will be back to normal. I’ll be taking cases and working again. And you will, of course, be welcome to help me. Everything will be back to normal.” The last sentence was less of a statement and more of a hopeful question.

John leaned his head back and sighed, closing his eyes. “Just like that, huh? You really think that, just like that, the world will go back to normal? And here you said you weren’t an idiot.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” snapped John angrily, “that, though I understand that you had to leave, I’m still upset at you. I appreciate you taking the fall for us. I do. But you could have let me know. Molly obviously knew. I’m guessing Mycroft did as well. You could have told me. I could have pretended you were dead and gone along with it. Or pretended to die along with you and helped you out. But no, you left me in the dark. Do you know what that did to me? It damn near killed me. I thought about following you to an early grave more than once. If it weren’t for the fact that I have some bloody good mates, I think I would have killed myself. And you just come in here thinking that everything is going to go back to normal, like nothing ever happened? Think again.”

Sherlock was silent for a minute, then asked quietly, “So where does that leave us? Do you want me to move out?”

“Jesus Christ, no!” John exclaimed. “I just got you back!” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Sherlock noticed he looked considerably older than he had just a few years ago. “No, you don’t have to move out. When the time comes, I’ll go back to doing cases with you. I’m still gonna spend time with Mary though, so that’s something you’ll just have to live with. No chasing her off. I will forgive you, Sherlock. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. Just give me time. One minute I’m bringing a friend over for dinner and a movie, the next I suddenly have a flat mate who was supposed to be dead announcing that he is, in fact, not dead and that life will return to normal. I need time to adjust and to forgive you.”

Sherlock nodded slowly. “I’ll give you that time. As long as you need. And John…I don’t know if it makes you feel better or not- you know I’ve never been good at emotions and feelings- but I did miss you while I was gone. A lot.” He paused, trying to find the right words to express his damned emotions. Unable to come up with anything, he simply said, “Thank you, for letting me stay. I’m sorry.”

John looked up at him as he rose to leave. “Your room’s the same as you left it. Well, not quite. We put all of your books and science equipment in there. And your violin. Basically everything that’s yours is in there. Except your skull. For all her complaining about it, Mrs. Hudson didn’t have the heart to move it after your fall.”

“Speaking of which, where is she?” Sherlock asked.

“What, haven’t you deduced it yet?” asked John, his tone a bit snide. “Sorry, that was uncalled for. She had a date tonight, I believe.”

“I am sorry I interrupted yours, by the way,” Sherlock lied.

John laughed. “No, you’re not.”

“You’re right. I’m not,” said Sherlock with a grin. “But at least I tried, right? How long have you been seeing her?”

John shrugged. “She started working at the surgery about two years ago. We’ve been close ever since. We’re not a couple though. She won’t date me. Says I’m too attached to you and that she doesn’t want to date someone from work.” He grinned wryly. “Only you could manage to drive off dates without even being alive at the time.”

Sherlock laughed a little. He was not really sure what else to say, so he started to go to his old room when John’s voice stopped him. “Wait!” The anguish in John’s voice was so intense that Sherlock froze mid step. “Don’t go, Sherlock,” John said, his voice shaky.

Sherlock turned around. “I’m sorry, John,” he said gently, slowly walking back to his chair. “I was just trying to give you the space you need.”

John crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “No. Stay. That way I know you’re real, not a hallucination.”

“Did you have any of those while I was…away?” When John nodded, Sherlock reached out and placed his hand on John’s. It was not done as a romantic gesture, but it made his heart pound nevertheless. However, the primary emotion he felt was not giddy happiness, but regret. How would he ever make this up to John?


	2. Chapter 2

The next few days were very hard on Sherlock. When John announced to Mrs. Hudson that Sherlock was still alive and waiting upstairs, she insisted on hugging as tightly to him as she possibly could and not letting go for a long while. It was trying on him, as he hated maudlin displays of affection, but he would have to be the world’s largest liar to deny that he had missed her, so he hugged her back and assured her he would stay and explained everything to her. When she finally did let go of him, she insisted on bringing up tea and snacks for them all to share. 

Things were quite awkward between him and John. Sometimes, things were almost normal between them. They were able to laugh and make jokes and talk about things as if nothing had ever happened. At other times, however, the uncomfortable silence seemed to stretch out between them for impossible lengths of time. Mrs. Hudson helped with that considerably, but it still did not solve problem between them. Finally, when Mrs. Hudson had left and John went to the bathroom, Sherlock snatched up his phone and went through it quickly. It did not take him long to locate the number he was looking for and save it to his own phone. He replaced John’s phone just in time for him not to notice, or at least not to comment.

_How do I make things less awkward with John? –SH_

He did not have to wait long for a reply. _You’re the consulting detective. Why are you asking me? –Mary_

_I’m bad at apologizing and fixing things and this needs to get resolved quickly so I’m not going to blunder about like I usually do when it comes to emotional matters –SH_

_Just make an effort. He knows you well enough that he’ll pick up on it. Good luck –Mary_

Sherlock groaned in frustration. That was most unhelpful. He was racking his brain, trying to figure out a way to convince John to forgive him, to show he was sorry for the pain it had caused. He thought for a while, and then an idea began to form. He ran it by Mary, who encouraged it. Pleased with himself, he decided to implement his plan immediately.

“John, do we need anything from the store? Any milk or anything like that? Jam?” he asked.

John stared at him like he had grown a second head with four eyes and ten ears. “What?”

“I asked if there was anything we needed from the store,” Sherlock repeated, trying not to be annoyed at the need for repetition.

“Ummmm…I think we’re out of milk?” John asked, clearly confused.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Really, John, this isn’t that hard. I’m hoping you know the contents of the fridge better than I do, or we’re in trouble because I don’t remember if I left any experiments in there before I…left.”

John laughed a bit. “You did. We threw it out though. Didn’t think to collect any of the data from it either. Sorry.”

Sherlock huffed in mock annoyance. “A waste of perfectly good….” He paused, searching his mind palace briefly for the contents he had left in the fridge. “Ah yes, perfectly good livers. Such a waste. Anyways, what is it we need from the store?”

“Milk, tea, coffee, and some food in general would be good,” John replied. “There’s a list next to the sink. I was going to go out today.”

“Well, you aren’t now,” Sherlock announced, sweeping across the room and finding the list. “I’ll go and take care of everything. You stay and relax.” With that, he donned his coat and scarf and left. 

An hour later, he was back, his arms heavily laden with plastic bags. “I will never laugh at you for having a row with the machine again,” he announced, striding to the kitchen to put the groceries away.

John looked up from the paper he had been reading and laughed. “Didn’t go so well, huh?”

“I received some interesting stares when I told it quite firmly to piss off,” Sherlock admitted. His pride was hurting, so he refused to look at John as he busied himself with putting things away, but he was doing his best to act…normal for his flat mate. That was his plan; if he made an effort to be normal, John might forgive him. But it was so frightfully dull. How did people live like this? 

He could tell that John was fighting hard to keep his amusement to himself. Sherlock pointedly ignored him and began the tedious chore of putting away his purchases. When he was done, he flopped down on the couch. He wanted to run to the morgue- it had been far too long since he had been able to experiment and he had some interesting theories he was pondering- but he resisted. After a while of lying there with nothing to do, he could not help himself. “John, I’m bored!”

John rolled his eyes, looking up from the paper again. “Already, Sherlock? You haven’t even been back a day.”

“I can’t help it, John. I’ve got nothing to do. I know! You come up with something to do.”

“Wha-?” John asked, clearly confused. He set the paper aside completely and turned to face his friend. “Wouldn’t whatever I choose just be dull and boring?”

“Not necessarily,” Sherlock insisted, though he did not believe his words. “Choose something. Anything. I’ll be a good sport about it. I promise. We can even play Cluedo and I won’t argue with the rules. Just pick something.”

John stared at him for a minute, his mouth open. Sherlock found it a little annoying but supposed it was to be expected. That was two unusual things he had done today. “Can we just take the day to stay in?” John asked. “Work’s been stressful. It always gets harder on me near the anniversary of your…disappearance.” Sherlock internally winced at that. Oh, how frustrating this whole caring thing was. Definitely a disadvantage. “I had planned on just taking today to watch crap telly and some movies with Mary.”

“Sounds good,” said Sherlock, though he hated the idea. An hour or two of crap telly could be fun, sometimes, when he had nothing better to do, but a whole day of it was going to be hard to take. “I didn’t think to buy popcorn while I was out. Shall I go get some before Mary gets here?”

“Popcorn?” John asked. “Sherlock, what’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing, John. I just thought that popcorn was what people ate while they watched movies.” Suddenly, he felt incredibly self-conscious as an idea struck him. “Wait, it is popcorn that they eat, right? Am I right? Or is that something else everyone should know that I deleted?”

John smiled and shook his head. “Don’t worry. You’ve got it right. I just…whatever. It’s not important. Are you sure you don’t mind Mary coming over?”

Sherlock shrugged. “It’s your decision John. I said I’d do what you wanted me to do, remember?” With that, he left to go and have another row with the machine. It took him longer than he thought, as he had a harder time finding things on the store shelves than he would have thought. Who knew shopping could be such a bother? I hope you know how much I love you, my dear Watson, he thought somewhat sourly. I’m only doing this for you.

When he got back to the flat, he was surprised that John was alone. “Is Mary coming?” he asked, setting down the bag. 

John shook his head. “No, she said something came up. We’re gonna go get a drink later but for now she’s busy.”

“Pity,” Sherlock remarked blandly, trying to hide the mixed emotions he was experiencing. He appreciated Mary giving him time alone with John, but not her taking time alone with him as well. This whole sharing thing was vastly overrated. No wonder he had been so horrible at it as a child. 

John glanced at his phone. “Oh, apparently Lestrade is coming too. You should join us,” he told the detective as Sherlock began to pop the popcorn. “Then you can warn him before he sees the papers that you’re not actually….” John paused for a considerable length of time before he finally whispered, “Gone.”

Sherlock cringed at that. The pain in John’s voice was still raw. He walked over and put a hand on his friend’s arm. It was meant to reassure John that he was still there, but he found that he liked it an awful lot more than he thought he should. “I think I will join you, if Mary doesn’t mind.”

“Since when do you care if people mind?” John snorted, punching the keys on his phone.

Ok, that hurt a little. Sherlock began categorizing the things that caused John to do or say something that had an emotional impact, positive or negative, so that he could try to elicit only positive reactions. “Well, I am in her debt,” he answered curtly.

John raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Apparently, he was not so dull as to not understand what Sherlock was referring to. 

The popcorn finished, Sherlock came and sat down, handing a bowl of it to John and settling into his chair. He stayed there for hours as John enjoyed the mindless programs on the telly and then a few movies. He always volunteered to refill the popcorn bowls whenever they got too low, partially to be nice, and partially to escape the tedium of sitting and doing nothing. Finally, it was time to go to the pub.

He was a tad nervous about reuniting with Lestrade again, but mostly because Lestrade would be irritable and possibly drunk, which meant Sherlock faced the possibility of yet another bruise or two forming on his face. Anger was such a volatile, unpredictable emotion; he was glad that he was not given to following his feelings like everyone else was. Lestrade did not see him at first when he came in, as he was leaning on the bar, chatting with Mary. Sherlock hung back, doing his best to deduce everything he could about his col- no, not colleague. His friend. 

_Wedding band missing. Possibly cheating, but lack of tan line on finger suggests divorce. Out late and not tired, meaning that his sleep schedule no longer accommodates a grumpy wife or children. Somewhat thinner. Based on the news reports, most probably cause is an increased workload. Comfortable leaning close to Mary. Obviously past grieving stage of divorce. Ready to move on and start again. Too far away to check pupil dilation, pulse, and breathing to determine if he is considering Mary or just comfortable with her. Shoes muddy, but not wearing work clothes. Must have worked late and then changed in a hurry. Paying attention to most all parts of wardrobe. Definitely seeking to impress someone. Hair lighter grey than it was before, but still kept short. Definitely more work piling up._

That was as far as he could get because, at that moment, Lestrade noticed him. His face went pale and he shut his eyes tightly and rubbed them. Sherlock and his flat mate walked up as Mary set her hand on Lestrade’s arm and said gently, “He’s real.”

“But…how…why?” Lestrade stared at him, eyes wide.

“The how isn’t important,” Sherlock answered. “The reason I left was because I was saving the lives of you, Mrs. Hudson, and John. Moriarty had men positioned to kill all three of you if they did not see me die. So I died,” he explained simply. It was much easier to tell everything to Lestrade. 

Lestrade was quiet for a minute. “What took you so long to come back?”

“I was helping…the government to detangle the web of criminals and assassins that Moriarty left behind.” He saw John smirk out of the corner of his eye and knew he had caught the reference to Mycroft. “His network has been destroyed now, however, so I have come home. In a week or two, there will be a press release that clears my name, with all of the evidence to prove my innocence. Then I’ll be back to work. Everything will be normal again.”

Lestrade snorted. “Sherlock, nothing is normal with you. Anyways, glad to have you back. You’ve been missed.”

“How many cold cases do you have waiting for me?” 

Lestrade rolled his eyes as he took a drink. “That wasn’t what I meant, though we do have a lot that need sorting out. John has helped a lot, but….”

Sherlock grinned. “I can’t wait. Feel free to give me the files whenever. I can work on them this week while waiting.” He was excited at the prospect of another case. It had been far too long since he had had a good murder to solve.

The rest of the night was spent mostly listening to his friends talk and laugh, though he noticed he got longer looks than necessary from both John and Lestrade, as if checking that he was, in fact, still there. He chose to let them talk and listen politely instead of engaging in the conversation because he was tired of being normal. It was quite taxing. He had long ago learned to detach himself from his emotions and anything that was not immediately important to anything, so much of the things they were discussing meant nothing to him. While he knew in general what football was, he knew nothing about teams who played or statistics of who was doing well. He knew what movies were, but he could not tell you what was popular or which actors starred in what films. Nor did he care. Though he supposed it would not hurt to start if he was going to try to be normal for John. 

_Ugh. This is horrible. So tediously dull. How do people hold onto all of this information and still learn new things? Well, obviously, it does take up space on their hard drive, or they’d be just as brilliant as me. Well, close; no one can be that brilliant. But they would at least be a lot less stupid. And the world could do with less stupid people. How am I supposed to retain this information without compromising my mind?_

He stared at his drink (one beer that he drank slowly to ensure it lasted the night; too much alcohol would damage his thought processes, as well as his liver) and tried to figure it out. How to be normal and brilliant at the same time. To be both dull and exciting. _How does John do it?_ Sherlock wondered, staring at his friend. _He’s so ordinary and yet he’s…not._ An idea came to him. If he restructured his mind palace a bit, he could fit in a larger room for John. Then he could store all the Ordinary information here. Ordinary information was things like how the grocery store was laid out and which actor was the latest regeneration in Doctor Who, information that would help him win John back over. His night was suddenly less boring as he focused on rearranging anything. 

“What’s he doing?” he heard Mary ask as he began moving his hands dramatically in accordance with what was taking place internally.

“Visiting his Mind Palace,” he heard John explain. He worked hard to tune everyone out as he made the necessary changes.

After what felt like only a brief moment or two, he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, Sherlock, but I gotta go,” said Lestrade, slurring his R’s a tiny bit, though not as bad as he should have been for a man who drank as much as he did. 

Sherlock detached himself from the irritation that flared at being pulled from his work and smiled. “It was good to see you…Greg?” he hazarded, trying desperately to remember the D.I.’s real name.

The smile on Lestrade’s face told him he was right. “You too, Sherlock. And, uh….” Lestrade scratched the back of his neck and looked away. “Sorry…about…you know…the whole Moriarty thing…and stuff. I never bought it, not really, but…I should have stuck by you. Shouldn’t have doubted you.”

The guilt and sorrow in Lestrade’s voice that revealed how genuine his words were touched Sherlock a little. “Nonsense, you were doing your job. In the face of the evidence, it would have been idiotic to consider anything except that I was indeed a fake. Besides, if you had not acted on the evidence, regardless of your belief or disbelief in it, you would have fallen from the graces of the police force and lost your job.”

“Better than falling off a hospital roof.” Sherlock’s eyes widened. Lestrade smiled a little. “You’re a pain in the ass, but you’re also my friend. Albeit a weird friendship. And thank you. For, you know, falling and doing all that.” Lestrade cleared his throat to cover the awkwardness. “So, see you tomorrow? I can come by with those files.”

“Yes, that would be quite helpful. It’s boring having nothing to do,” he whined.

“See you tomorrow, then.” Lestrade gave John a thump on the back and hugged Mary good-bye, then left.

“Well, I gotta go too,” Mary said, putting on her coat. “By the way, John, you’re scheduled for a paid week off this week, so don’t worry about coming in tomorrow.” She grinned as he spluttered. “Helps to have a friend working the office, doesn’t it? I’ll see you guys later.” She gave them both a hug good bye. Sherlock was stiff, as he had no desire to make contact of any kind with her, and she surprised him by whispering, “Good job,” in his ear as she pulled away. Whether she was referring to the fake hug or the entire normal thing, he was unsure.

“Come on, John, let’s go home,” he said, helping his slightly drunk friend into his coat and guiding him out the door gently. 

The cab ride was oddly quiet. When Sherlock looked over at John, however, he found his dear [ _dear? Where did that thought come from?_ ] doctor was dozing. A rather sharp turn, accompanied by a mild curse from the driver, sent John’s head to Sherlock’s shoulder, but Sherlock found that he did not mind and had no desire to move it. _What is all this sentiment and why can’t I separate myself from it? he wondered. Normally it’s so simple. Like how it was with The Woman. I blundered, yes, but I fixed that readily enough. And then, once I saved her, I washed my hands of her. I still respect her; after all, it takes a lot of work to match wits with the only Consulting Detective and come out almost on top. But I don’t bear any more sentiment towards her. So why can I not devoid myself of these feelings for John?_

His musings continued until they reached 221B and he had to shake John awake. He paid the cab (a rare occurrence that John would have appreciated had he been more alert) and led the groggy doctor inside their flat. He made sure he got up the stairs to his room alright and then turned to leave when John grabbed his arm. “Stay,” the army doctor ordered, rubbing his eyes with his other hand, still somewhat asleep. “Whenever I saw you before you came back for real…every time I saw you…you would always disappear before I woke up. But then you would never come back. Well, not until the next time I started hallucinating.”

“I assure you, John, I am not going anywhere,” Sherlock promised gently, but his heart was breaking at John’s words. The way his friend talked, it sounded like the hallucinations had happened frequently.

John shook his head. “Sherlock, please. Just stay. I don’t even care if you conduct an experiment of some kind as long as you don’t kill me in my sleep and I don’t wake up first thing to a dismembered head. I don’t care if you sleep next to me or just stand in a corner visiting your Mind Palace all night. Just…stay.”

Sherlock nodded. “Very well, John, if you need my presence that strongly, I will stay here for you. Now go to bed.”

John flopped onto his bed without another word. Sherlock sat cross-legged on the pillow on the side his friend didn’t occupy and leaned back against the headboard. “Good night, John,” he whispered gently as the other side filled with snores. Well, he needed time to finish restructuring his Mind Palace anyways.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Sherlock’s back was sore from sitting for so long, but he had been careful not to move from his position lest he wake the doctor. When John finally opened his eyes, his smile made the pain worth it. “You’re still here.”

Sherlock stood up and stretched, popping his back as he did so. “Like I promised.”

“That was the best sleep I’ve had in years. No nightmares.”

“Your nightmares returned while I was away?” Sherlock asked, feeling even guiltier. 

“Well, sorta,” John said, sitting up and stretching. “They weren’t of Afghanistan, but they were even more frequent.”

“What were they of?” Sherlock asked, but the look on John’s face told him all he needed to know. “Ah.”

John walked over, rubbing the last bit of sleep from his eyes. “They’re gone now, though. Or at least, they were last night, which is the first break I’ve had in God knows how long.”

“John,” Sherlock said quietly, trying to find the words to express all the emotions and sentiment, “I’m so sorry for what I did to you. If I had known it would affect you this badly, I would have communicated with you sooner, even just a tiny note left in the flat on a scrap of paper for you saying ‘I’m alive’. I knew you were hurting from what Mycroft said- yes, I had him spy on you, don’t start- but I didn’t realize how much trauma it caused. I truly am sorry, John Hamish Watson.” And then, because he instinctively knew it was the right thing to do, even if he couldn’t explain why, Sherlock slowly reached out and hugged John.

John stiffened up in surprise, but then relaxed and hugged Sherlock back tightly. “How…how did you not think it would affect me like this? You’re my best friend. Why wouldn’t watching you fall to your death affect me?”

“I knew it would affect you. I just assumed that, since you were a soldier, you were strong enough to take it. I know it’s not the first time you’ve seen someone you consider a friend die.” He could feel John hugging tighter and shaking a little. Crying? Or fighting it. “I thought you would just take it in stride, mourn me briefly, and then move on. Find a wife now that I was out of the way. Have a family. Or maybe get a job somewhere else. I didn’t want those things. I wanted my blogger to be waiting for me when I got home. And I thought I’d get home a lot sooner. But any of those options would have been better than what happened to you. I’m so sorry.”

John’s eyes were red and puffy when he looked up at Sherlock. He wiped a tear off Sherlock’s cheek he hadn’t even known was there. “Thank you. Just…thank you.”

Sherlock nodded, unsure of what to say next. He was not used to pouring out his heart like that. It hadn’t happened in years. He had worked hard to ensure that. Now, having done so, he felt drained, albeit in a good way. When John finally released him, he smiled awkwardly and went downstairs, Watson following him. He went to the kitchen and began making them both tea while trying to figure out what to make for breakfast by staring idly into the fridge. A knock at the door pulled him away. It was Mrs. Hudson, who was showing Lestrade up to their flat while happily chattering about how nice it was to have Sherlock back. An idea hit him as he saw them come in the door together, smiling and laughing. It was not going to be pleasant (for him at least), but it would surely earn John’s forgiveness.

Lestrade was carrying in many files, the cold cases they had talked about the previous night. He briefly described each one to Sherlock, summing up the information for him. Sherlock could tell that most would be rather dull, but a couple sounded intriguing. John came and sat next to him, listening in interest, while Mrs. Hudson made them tea and brought up a tray of biscuits, saving Sherlock from having to make food. After they had gone over the cases and eaten all the food, Lestrade rose to leave. “Oh, by the way,” Sherlock said, trying to sound casual, “I was planning on hosting a party as an ‘I’m-not-dead’ warning of sorts this Saturday, as the news will officially reach the papers on Sunday. Will you be coming?”

The only person who looked more amazed than Lestrade was John. “Um…sure, I’ll be here. What time?”

“I was thinking seven. Or would eight suit you better?”  
“No, seven is…seven is fine.”

“Be sure to invite Donovan and Anderson. We may have never been on the best of terms, but they should have some warning so they don’t get in my way by asking me stupid questions when I’m on a case.”

Now all Lestrade could do was stare. After eying Sherlock for a long while, he gulped and said, “Right.” With that, he turned and left.

Sherlock looked at John, who was staring with his jaw wide open. “Close your mouth, John. You look ridiculous.”

John seemed unable to find the words. “You…party…you invited…Anderson to…a party…that you’re going to be hosting?” he finally got out.

“Yes, John, please try to keep up and not repeat everything I say. You’re invited too, if you’d like,” he teased. “Oh, and invite Mary. I need her for an experiment.”

“You are NOT experimenting on my friend!” John exclaimed.

“Relax, John, it’s a case study, not an empirical one. I merely wish to observe the behavior of our favorite Detective Inspector around her based on data I acquired yesterday. That is all. Now, who else should I invite? I only decided on this as Lestrade walked in. Hmmm…Mrs. Hudson, of course. Molly. She’s was quite important in my disappearance. Oh, and I suppose…Mycroft.” He grimaced at the thought. “He is my older brother, after all. I should probably try to create a not completely hostile relationship with him. John, your face is getting ridiculous again. If you’re going to sit around with your mouth open like a fish, I really must ask you to go sit in your room. It’s quite distracting.”

“Sherlock. What’s going on?” John leaned over and stared him hard in the eyes. 

“No, John, I haven’t taken any drugs so stop worrying about that. And I am perfectly healthy, trust me. I just thought it would be a good way to announce my un-death to those who don’t already know and thank those who do. Now, are you going to help me plan the party and then look at these case files? If not, then please leave me be. I need to get to work. There’s so much to be done! No more boredom for me!” he cheered gleefully, grabbing John’s laptop without thinking.

John sighed and sat down next to him. “Well, at least you’re using my laptop for it. That much is normal.”

Sherlock paused at his words. “Is it normal for friends to use each other’s computers without permission?” he asked.

“In for normal people who aren’t friends with Sherlock Holmes, no. But in this house, yes, sadly enough. Almost as normal as finding heads in the fridge.”

Sherlock wasn’t sure what to say. He had been trying so hard to be normal for John, and yet now he seemed like he appreciated the weirdness that came from being friends with the world’s only consulting detective more. Oh well, he would stay the course. He had come too far to change directions now. Especially since he had already invited Lestrade and the others. Really, what had possessed him to invite Anderson of all people? His mouth had gotten ahead of his brain. He was trying too hard to be normal and it had backfired. And how did one plan a party anyways?

John laughed when he asked. “I’m assuming this came to you all at once and you talked without thinking it through?”

Sherlock nodded in embarrassment.

John shook his head and laughed some more. “Of course I’ll help you, you git. What would you do without me?”

“I really don’t know,” Sherlock said, careful not to let his tone show how much he meant it.


	4. Chapter 4

Saturday came and saw a very frustrated John trying to help Sherlock clean the flat. Even though he not had access to body parts lately (at least, that’s what Sherlock let John believe; it was hard enough acting normal without admitting it), he had still managed to make a mess of the flat. Currently, John was trying to straighten the massive amounts of paperwork on the desk and sort them unto the appropriate files while Sherlock finished cooking for the party. Instead of wasting money buying prepackaged snacks, he was making his own assortment of biscuits, mini-sandwiches, and the like. John had been amazed to find him cooking, until he pointed out that cooking is more or less chemistry applied in a domestic setting and then ordered John to fetch him more milk. Going to have to work on that, he realized as his doctor donned his coat and went outside. _Old habits die hard._

There was some bickering as they finished preparing for the party. John wanted to move the skull; Sherlock refused vehemently. Sherlock though that they should avoid having cake because Mycroft would hog it all; John insisted it was traditional for a welcome home party, which is more or less what this was going to be. Mary had come by early to help, having had the day off, but fell apart laughing at the sight of an apron-clad Sherlock fighting over the skull with John, who had a feather duster in his pocket. She left after that, promising to return, but not before snapping a picture of their fight. She sent it to each of them. That had been enough to ease the tension between the two; it was hard to say mad when you saw how absolutely ridiculous you looked while fighting. The skull stayed and cake was made. 

As seven o’clock drew near, Sherlock found himself a trifle nervous. He had attended many parties, mostly against his will, but he had never been the host before. Sure, sometimes he had been with the host, like when John threw a Christmas party years ago, but he had never been the host himself. John must have noticed because he stood next to Sherlock at the window. “Feeling ok?”

“Fine,” Sherlock snapped. “Sorry,” he amended guiltily. “I know that was A Bit Not Good. I’ll be fine, John.”

John smiled. “It’s ok. Is it the fact you’re hosting the party? You’ve been unusually tense today.”

“Have I?” he asked distractedly. “If you must know, then yes. I shouldn’t be, but I am. I’m trying to detach myself and I can’t. It’s annoying.”

“Here, this might help,” John offered.

Sherlock turned around. John was holding out his violin to him. It was in quite good condition, better than when he had left it, in fact. He took it gingerly, turning it over and looking at it. The strings were in tune and the bow had been rehaired. 

John grinned. “I took it out on one of those blasted errands you sent me on today. When you ran out of eggs. You were distracted, so it was pretty easy. I had it cleaned and retuned and taken care of. I didn’t get the violin itself restrung though, because you always used to complain about breaking in new strings. I thought you might like to have it back.”

Sherlock turned back to the window wordlessly, but he started by playing one of John’s favorites as a way of thanking him. He didn’t trust himself to express his emotions right now. He was touched deeply, full of gratitude like he had never been before. It was so thoughtful, so kind and caring. So John. If he were to talk now, he would likely spill his feelings for the man and he couldn’t afford a scene right before the party.

Thankfully, the guests arrived and John greeted them as Sherlock played himself back to normality. He relaxed quickly and set the violin down to greet everyone. Molly was her unusually bubbly, enjoying the extra attention that came from having been the one to help Sherlock survive. Mary was her usual sassy self, punching Sherlock lightly in the arm in greeting before grabbing some punch and curling up on the couch. Lestrade, particularly cheerful, clapped Sherlock on the arm before sitting next to Mary and talking to her. Sherlock resisted the urge to gloat; so far, his predictions were correct. Mycroft came in looking bored and mingled briefly before helping himself to a slice of cake. There was a series of groans when he was introduced as Sherlock’s brother, and Mary cried out, “Not another Holmes!”

The most priceless reaction was Anderson’s. He paled considerably at the sight of Sherlock. His voice was strained and he shook the detective’s hand before ducking back out of the flat quickly. _Wasn’t expecting me; wonder what Lestrade told him. Left before I had a chance to deduce much more that his wife hasn’t left him yet, but she does suspect he’s up to something. His cologne was too strong; trying to cover Donovan’s perfume harder than he used too._

“He thought it was a joke,” Donovan explained, coming in after him. “I’m surprised you even invited us.”

“Hello, Sally,” he said, trying to keep any disdain out of his voice. It was harder than he thought. “It’s good to see you,” he lied.

She shook her head and looked at the floor. She said nothing for a minute, and then hugged him. “I’m sorry,” she said, not looking at him as he awkwardly hugged her back. Unlike his hug with Watson, this felt very unnatural and very weird. “I shouldn’t have doubted you like that. Even if you are an ass, you were still a lot of help. It was wrong not to listen to you and your side. Lestrade explained a little bit about what happened. I can’t believe you did that just for your friends. You’re a good man, Freak.”

Sherlock was surprised to feel her tears on his shirt. He hugged her a little tighter. He had been angry with her initially for being so stupid as to believe Moriarty’s story, but then the evidence had been piled strongly against him. “You were doing your job,” he said, trying to be comforting. “It’s alright.”

Sally stepped back and wiped her face. “It really isn’t though. I saw what it did to Watson.”

He nodded. “Yes, I will admit, it’s going to take some work for me to forgive you for that. But, at the same time, I can’t blame you. It was an expertly made case against me. Moriarty was brilliant. He’s the only other one who could match me. Such a shame he chose the side he did. Can you imagine us as partners instead of enemies?”

“If he was like you, then I’d rather not. That much arrogance in one room would be unbearable,” she answered with a small smile.   
With a laugh, he took a good look at her and assessed her quickly. “Really, Donovan, you should find someone better to waste your time with. Anderson, in addition to be an incredible moron, is probably the worst man you could possibly hook up with. If he hasn’t left his wife for you after all these years, do you really think you have any kind of a future with him? Not to mention the fact that you’re hardly the only woman he’s carrying on with. There are at least two or three others, I’d hazard. He wasn’t as clingy to you as normal, meaning that he is getting what you have to offer elsewhere. Thus, I would recommend you find someone else. You may be an idiot, but even Anderson is below you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That was a compliment, wasn’t it?” 

“Of sorts.”

“Well, thanks. I think. And I may take your advice. Not the only one, you said?” She walked away, obviously turning over what he had said in her head.

Sherlock managed to remain polite and civil for the entire party. He would have enjoyed himself more had he been allowed to regale everyone with his observations, but on whole, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. John seemed happy, and Sherlock had to admit he was enjoying the attention that came with being alive once again. He had missed having an audience.

He saw Lestrade in the kitchen, filling two glasses with water. He walked over and commented quietly, “She is rather pretty, isn’t she?”

Lestrade jumped. “Christ, Sherlock, you scared me! What are you talking about?”

Sherlock snorted. “The woman you’ve spent the whole night chatting up.”

Lestrade flushed. “Should have known you’d pick up on that. Yeah, she’s really something.”

“You should do something about it.”

“Since when do you care?” Lestrade asked snidely, but then he apologized. “Old habit, sorry. I know you care, even if you do show it differently. I don’t know. My confidence has been shot since the divorce.”

“What happened?” Sherlock asked, not really wanting to hear the sob story but knowing it was what he was supposed to do.

Lestrade smiled bitterly. “She figured out I wasn’t as good of a detective as she thought. And then since work was harder without the spoiled prat who also happened to be a genius floating around, nosing into anything and everything and breaking the rules, my stress levels were much higher and I was much less pleasant because of it. Even my kids don’t wanna see me now.”

“Well, the spoiled prat is back and more than happy to bend, not break, rules again. Mary seems to be pretty patient too. Though I should warn you, she has a solid slap, so watch out for that.” Lestrade snorted. Sherlock looked over at Mary, who was talking to John now. An idea, brilliant as always, blossomed. “Actually, continue chatting her up and flirting for now. I may have a plan that will work to both our favors.”

“Finally planning to make a move on our good doctor, then?” Lestrade asked cheekily, grinning like mad.

Sherlock huffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The blush on your cheeks says otherwise. Come on now, it’s no use pretending you don’t feel, Sherlock. We all know better now.”

Sherlock glared. Lestrade merely chuckled at this. “Fine,” Sherlock sighed. “Yes, I may be harboring feelings for John of a non-platonic variety. I’m still analyzing them.”

Lestrade smiled. “Always knew it. Well, if you’d excuse me, I’d like to get back to my flirting as I wait for you to enact whatever dastardly plan you’ve come up with.”

“Not dastardly, genius,” Sherlock called as Lestrade walked away.


	5. Chapter 5

Worn out from being overly polite and friendly, Sherlock went to the window and began to play his violin. John took the hint and began to tactfully get people to go home. After everyone had left, Mary and Lestrade stayed behind to help clean up as Lestrade had not-so-discreetly offered to give Mary a ride home. When they at last had the flat to themselves, John tentatively asked, “Sherlock, I know you’re more of a man of few words and a lot of action, but can we talk?”

[ _Hand through hair, tremor in voice. Has something to say- no, ask- but nervous. Fears…yes, fearing insult right now. Thus, must curb tongue to avoid hurting my blogger. Damn sentiment. Much easier not to care._ ]

All this was processed in a second. Sherlock smiled and sat down in his chair, gesturing for John to do the same. “What’s on your mind?”

“What’s been up with you lately?” John asked, sitting down. “You’ve been…throwing parties and buying the mild and not shooting the wall. Are you ok? You’re not actually dying for real this time or something, are you?”

Ah. John had finally noticed. “I’m perfectly fine, John. No need to worry on that count.”

“Then what’s going on?” John demanded. The set of his jaw told Sherlock he wouldn’t be able to dodge the question.

He sighed. “You made it very clear when I moved back I was going to need to work hard to earn forgiveness. You also used the word ‘normal’, a word I hate. However, it made me think. I have done my best, as an attempt to regain your friendship and forgiveness, to be normal. Not saying I enjoyed it, because I haven’t, but it was the only thing I could think of.”

He waited impatiently as John stared, mouth agape. After what seemed like ages, John finally closed his mouth and gulped. “You’ve…been trying to be…normal…for me?”

“Yes, John, that’s what I just said,” Sherlock snapped, rising to pace the room. He wasn’t nervous; he had absolutely no reason to be nervous. WHY THE BLOODY HELL WAS HE NERVOUS? Frustrated, he started to rant. “I died for you, John. I fell off a rooftop for you, which, despite our plan that worked perfectly, still rather hurt. Then, I ran all over the bloody globe, taking out killers to protect you. Then, when I got back, I let you punch me without retaliation, didn’t do any experiments, didn’t shoot the wall, throw too much of a fit when bored, helped you with your nightmares, and did my best to be normal, dull, ORDINARY!” He rounded on John, who was now standing as he watches his friend. “On top of all of this, I’ve had to fight with and try to make sense of FEELINGS! Tell me, my dear doctor, what more must I do?” he screamed.

John stared for a second, stunned. Then he stepped forward and hugged Sherlock. The man calmed down a little, feeling guilt set in. He hugged John back, wanting to cry. _Why can’t I shut out all these feelings?_ he thought. _They’re running my life and I can’t stop them!_

When John hugged him tighter and answered his questions, he realized he’d spoken aloud. “That’s what they do, Sherlock. Most people can’t shut them out like you can. Boring people like me have to learn how to act based on both their emotions and their intellect, not one or the other.”

“You’re not boring, John,” said Sherlock quietly.

John stepped back, though he didn’t let go of his friend, smiling wide. “All of that and a compliment?” Sherlock felt his cheeks starting to pinken and looked away. John continued. “Sherlock, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about your suffering while you were gone, just mine. I never even thought to think that you would have suffered. After all, you’re the great Sherlock Holmes. I’ve seen you go days without eating or sleeping. I figured a three-year criminal chasing spree was more like a vacation for you than a struggle. A nice vacation away from the tedious idiots and morons of London. I’m sorry, Sherlock.”

Sherlock gave a dry laugh, one that held no humour. “Hardly. There was no one to give me easy access to the criminals, no one to let me into the morgue for experiments to confirm my suspicions, no one to clean my messes, despite not being my housekeeper.” He trailed off, listening to John’s chuckle as he tried to gain the courage to say what he really wanted to. “And there was no one to…nag me to eat and sleep and not die. No one to have my back when I run off into some stupid situation like the idiot that I’m not. No one to say ‘fantastic’ and remind me that I’m not the freak everyone thinks I am. No one to come up with ridiculous titles for my adventures and record them faithfully. No one to remind me when I’ve done something A Bit Not Good.” He hugged John, who was just staring at him, tighter, and whispered, “I was truly lost without my blogger.”

John hugged him back. “Well, you don’t have to worry on that count anymore. After what you pulled and what it did to both of us, I’m not leaving your side again. If one of us dies, we die together.”

Sherlock stepped away, worn out from the emotional display. “Normally, I would tease you about how people will talk and how cheesy that is, but I agree wholeheartedly. I’m going to sleep now. Being normal is tiring. No wonder you normal people think sleep is so important.”

John laughed and bade him good night. “Oh, and Sherlock! You’re forgiven.”

Sherlock paused. “Do you mean that?”

John nodded. “You don’t have to be normal anymore. Though, I really do appreciate you buying the milk and letting me keep my friends.”

“You’d like me to continue that.” It was a statement, not a question. 

To his surprise, John shrugged instead of agreeing. “If you don’t mind, getting the milk and other groceries from time to time would be nice. Or at least tell me when you use something up or write it down. As far as friends go…it won’t matter too much. Whoever I’m with will know I’m on call for you twenty-four seven. Though I would appreciate not being called away just to text for you. It’s not a big deal though. If leaving my friends early keeps you alive, I don’t care.”

Sherlock smiled. “I can handle that. We can talk more tomorrow, John. I really do want to be a better friend to you. Now, I’m going to bed. Would you like to join me? When John’s eyes widened and his cheeks started to burn, Sherlock explained, “Not like that. I know my close proximity helps you sleep without nightmares. I find myself more relaxed in your presence, so my mind may quiet down faster and allow me to sleep easier and quicker. Thus, it would seem to be a mutually beneficial system, at least until your subconscious is reassured of my return and my body has recovered from three years of hellish abuse.”

John just shrugged and followed his flat mate, though Sherlock noticed the pink hadn’t quite left his cheeks.


	6. Chapter 6

What had originally been a perfectly logical suggestion in his mind was not nearly as practical as he had thought. He was nervous about climbing into bed with John. He hadn’t thought about what his feelings would be doing to him as he lay perfectly still next to his friend. John was motionless too, and Sherlock could make out his irregular breathing. Sherlock finally managed to get his emotions under control enough to allow himself to sleep only when he heard John’s breathing become steady and even.

It was worth it, however. He felt much more rested than he had in a long time when he finally awoke. The other side of the bed was empty [ _I don’t feel disappointed at that_ , he reminded himself], meaning John was already awake. He sighed and climbed out of bed, not bother to put on fresh clothes since he had fallen asleep in the clothes he had worn for the party. Right before he opened the door, there was a knock. It was John, standing there with a nervous smile and a tray of food in his hands. “Eat,” he ordered.

Sherlock’s surprise must have shown, because John laughed and explained. “You said you missed me nagging you. So eat.”

Sherlock laughed and took the proffered tray. It smelled amazing. John had obviously put some effort into the meal. [ _That is why he is nervous. He is afraid I will insult the meal he worked so hard on. Now to deduce why he tried so hard in the first place._ ] “Thank you doctor. It looks and smells amazing.”

John looked very happy and said, “You’re welcome. So, any plans for the day?”

Sherlock sat down on his bed and John joined him. “As of yet, no. I thought it would be good for me to take a day to recover from being so damned social and nice yesterday. I’ll probably conduct an experiment or two. However, most importantly, I do have a plan I need your help on.’

John raised his eyebrows. “You need my help?”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Sherlock snapped. “Since I won’t get to work on a real case right away, I’ve decided to help Lestrade in his emotional matters instead and aid him in commencing a relationship with Mary.” Sherlock paused. “You don’t mind, do you? I know you once harbored romantic feelings for her.”

John shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I gave up on dating her a long time ago. I doubt I’ll be dating much at all. No one wants to have to compete with the great Sherlock Holmes,” he answered with a grin.

This made Sherlock abnormally happy, but he ignored it. “Well, as I was saying, I intend to help Lestrade. I will invite them to dinner and a movie night. I need you to do two things. One, play along if I do or say anything weird or out of character. Two, choose a long series of movies or a TV show for a marathon. I’m given to understand that dinner and a movie is generally a standard date, so I figure an extra nice dinner and a long movie night would be considered romantic and successful.”

“Mary likes Doctor Who, and there’s a lot of those we can watch,” John suggested thoughtfully.

“I leave that to you,” Sherlock said. “You are agreeable to the plan, then?”

John shrugged. “It can’t hurt. I’m willing to give it a try. No clue if it will work. But your plans usually work.”

“We shall see. Thank you for an excellent breakfast. Now, I need to spend some time in my mind palace. If you’ll excuse me.”

John nodded and took the tray. “I’ll leave you to it.”

When he was gone, Sherlock pulled out his phone and sent Mary a message. _I intend to ask John out later this week. Please attend a dinner later this week with us and Lestrade and stay for a Doctor Who marathon afterwards. Dinner will be formal, so dress accordingly. All expenses will be paid. Also, say nothing to John. I will wait to ask him out after the date is over and I have had a chance to deduce his emotions. Thank you for your cooperation. –SH_

She answered promptly. _Friday night after John and I get off work would be best. Formal, you say? Where are we going and where will we be meeting?-Mary_

_221B, I will provide a car. We will be at the fancy hotel that opened a few months ago, taking advantage of their restaurant and ballroom. –SH_

_You did say you’re paying, right? That’s way out of my price range._

He gritted his teeth. Pointless repetition! She could just pull up his previous message. With a sigh, he replied, _Rest assured on that count also. You may want to bring clothes that are more comfortable for movie watching. See you Friday. –SH_

After she had confirmed, he texted Lestrade the plan, frustrated by how long this took to set up. He vowed to leave subterfuge to Mycroft from now on. _Leave Friday night after 5 open; you will be joining me, Mary, and John for dinner that the new hotel with the ballroom. Dinner is formal but bring comfortable clothes you can sit around in for a Doctor Who marathon. John thinks I’m working to set you up with Mary. Mary thinks it’s a secret date so I can work up to asking John out. It’s both. You can woo Mary while I court John. Say nothing to either. See you Friday. –SH_

Once he had reassured Lestrade transport and payment would be covered, he told Mycroft what he would need and when. Getting help from his brother was easier now that they had formed a working relationship during his time away. The relief and apology his brother had shown in learning he still lived had done much to soothe the disdain he held for Mycroft, and apparently his baby brother being dead had made Mycroft decide Sherlock was more important than past slights and things of national importance. Mycroft promised to help him and wish him luck.

Retreating at last into his Mind Palace, he was greeted by a disturbing sight. There were little bits of John Watson all over the place. He had given John his own room long ago and locked the door. Now that he was done rearranging the Palace to allow Watson a larger room, he was ready to unlock it and expand it. That did not explain why John was everywhere. He picked up the tiny bits of John and went to put them in the room he was about to reconstruct, grumbling internally as he did so. When he unlocked the door labeled ‘Dr. John Watson’, however, he was not ready for the wave of feelings that hit him. “Agh!” he yelled, surprised.

John burst in a moment later. “What’s wrong?”

Sherlock took a shaky breath, still reeling from the intensity. “Sorry, I opened the wrong door in my Mind Palace and all my…feelings attacked me at once. I wasn’t prepared.”

John laughed. “Come on, mate. Let’s get you some tea and talk.”

“Why should we talk?” Sherlock asked, following John to the kitchen.

“Well, it’s how normal people handle their feelings. They talk to a friend.”

“I doubt it will help, but we can try.”

“What feeling is it, exactly?” John asked as he put the kettle on.

Sherlock sat at the table. “Love,” he spat out bitterly. “Love and everything that comes with it- worrying what they think and if they’re happy; making sure they aren’t so mad at me as to leave me; wondering if they’ll ever even fancy you, let alone love you back; guilt over hurting them…it’s horrible.”

John gave him his tea and sat down. “Who is the luck girl? Or is it a bloke?”

“I don’t think he would consider himself lucky. He’s straight, or at least has himself convinced he is, and that’s enough to seal my fate.” He sipped at his tea, afraid he had said too much and John would figure it out.

“Have you told him?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No point damaging a perfectly good, functioning friendship.”

John looked at him strangely. “But…you don’t have friends…just one…did you meet someone while you were away?”

Sherlock cursed himself for his fatal blunder. [ _Why did I have to teach John to be so observant?_ ] He couldn’t lie to John. He finished his tea, answered with a curt, “No,”, and then went to torture his violin strings so John wouldn’t continue the conversation.


	7. Chapter 7

Friday came much too soon. John had not spoken to Sherlock about his feelings again; in fact, he acted like the conversation never happened. His way of letting Sherlock down lightly? He did still sleep next to Sherlock. Sherlock was on edge, feeling unusually vulnerable.

When it was time for Lestrade and Mary to arrive in the car Mycroft had sent, Sherlock tried hard not to stare at John in his suit. He looked quite dashing, instead of just his usual cute and comfortable appearance. He really didn’t want to follow through with this dinner; it would have been easy to feign a last minute illness (especially with all of the butterflies in his stomach, a clichéd yet true sentiment). But he knew he had to go, knew he had to try. John seemed unusually happy, but refused to answer beyond stating he was looking forward to a good meal and the blossoming romance of two friends. Sherlock knew there was more to it than that, but he couldn’t deduce what.

Mrs. Hudson showed Mary and Lestrade in. Thy both were smiling and talking animatedly. John joined them. [ _At least they’re having fun. Lestrade is feeling confident. He’s standing two centimeters taller than normal. Mary had a good day. She left early to get ready; there are no ink stains on her fingers like when she normally comes over after work. John is still exceptionally happy, though he worked normal hours, and the bags under his eyes suggest a heavy patient list today. Why?_ ]

He could glean no new information or clue from the conversation, so he sighed and steered them out the door and into the car. He didn’t talk much during the ride until Lestrade started talking cases and having Sherlock talk about old cases from back before he had met John. Mary and John enjoyed listening, and so he happily regaled his audience with many a tale, enjoying John’s praise more than he should.

Dinner was fun now that he was feeling more relaxed. He and Lestrade shared stories of weird cases, some of which were new to him because even Anderson had been competent enough to solve them. While most were painfully obvious, he still enjoyed listening to the bizarre stories. Mary and John, in turn, shared some of the weirdest cases they had seen at the clinic. Sherlock felt a little guilty that he had never taken an interest in John’s work, while John had built his life around Sherlock’s.

As the plates were cleared away, Mary laughed. “Do you realize that the nature of our conversation would probably have put most people off their dinner, and for us it’s completely normal? What does that say about us?”

“Tells me Donovan will have to broaden her definition of ‘Freak’,” John replied, smiling at Sherlock.

Lestrade’s laugh covered for Sherlock’s surprised silence and blush. Why that had warmed him so much, he had no idea. “Might I ask you for a dance, Miss Freak?” Lestrade asked with an overdramatic tone in his voice.

Mary giggled. “I’d be delighted, Detective Inspector Freak.”

Lestrade smiled, took her hand, and led her away. Sherlock stared after them. “I’m not entirely sure what just happened, John.”

His friend smiled. “It’s called flirting, Sherlock. Albeit not your normal flirting. Now, would care for a dance, Consulting Detective Freak?”

His words might have hurt Sherlock if the man had not been perceptive enough to hear the smile in John’s voice and seen it reflected on his face. Hesitantly, he took the hand John was holding out to him. “Thank you, Freak,” he said nervously as they walked to the dance floor.

John laughed. “That’s Doctor Freak to you,” he said lightly as they started to dance.

Sherlock smiled a little and instinctively held John closer. He had no idea what was going on; the situation had not only gotten away from him, it had grown legs, ran away, and hid itself quite efficiently. He had initiated this dinner date with the intent to woo John and help Lestrade get together with Mary as a pleasant side effect. Things were not going according to plan and it worried him. But this was so nice, he didn’t want to protest in case it ended.

“Stop thinking,” John said, cutting into his thoughts. “If I can practically hear you think, you’re thinking too much.”

“I’m just trying to understand what’s going on,” Sherlock replied defensively.

“Try deducing it,” John teased.

Sherlock took a breath to get his thinking processes back on track. “You were exceptionally happy tonight and won’t say why. Mary and Lestrade were too, though they had reason to be, based on their dilated pupils and wide smiles; I’m sure their pulses would have been accelerated had I checked. We had a good dinner that ended in some peculiar flirting of sorts; I’ll take your word for that one anyways. Not exactly my area. And now we’re dancing, quite closely for two men who are just friends. The surprising thing about this is that you haven’t pulled away, as well as the fact that **you** asked **me** to dance, despite being aware of my feelings for you and your numerous declarations of heterosexuality. Your eyes are dilated and you’re smiling; you’re clearly enjoying this. Why?” he demanded. Then, as John answered by pulling him even closer and giving him a special, gentle smile that made his knees all funny, he understood. “Oh…I must say, you continue to surprise me. I did not see that coming.”

John laughed. “You think too much.” With that, he kissed Sherlock softly. It was a sweet, gentle kiss, and it calmed Sherlock’s mind instantly. John pulled away too soon for Sherlock’s taste, but the joyous smile on his face was worth seeing. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt right away. I wanted to make sure of how I really felt and what I really wanted. I didn’t wanna hurt you by changing my mind partway in. I know you, Sherlock Holmes. You’re all or nothing. I wanted to make sure I could give you all.”

“How did you decide? Are you sure?”

“I tried to imagine life without you,” John answered simply. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t picture me getting married or having a normal family. Not in a million years. But I could see myself chasing after you, tackling criminals and protecting you from yourself. I’m staying with you.”

Sherlock smiled and kissed John softly again.


	8. Epilogue

The night found two couples curled up on a couch just large enough to hold them. Later, there would be serial killers to chase. Later, they would surprise Donovan by all four of them answering calmly to ‘Freak’. Later, Mary would surprise them by being able to think fast enough to keep up with Sherlock (even if she didn’t think right), and so prove herself useful by being able to write down everything he said, saving Lestrade massive amounts of trouble. Later, Lestrade would discover exactly how fast and well he could solve crimes when Mary got herself kidnapped, and later she would prove that you could buy yourself precious time with the criminal world by threatening to ground them for being rude and taking advantage of their confusion. Later, Watson would save Sherlock’s life yet again. Later, Sherlock would almost destroy the flat with yet another failed experiment. Later, he would hide body parts around the flat because he was bored and wanted to record John’s reaction, but for now, later could wait, because now held comfort and cuddling and kisses and Doctor Who. For now, later could wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and reviews would be helpful. Please and thank you =)


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